Chapter 8
Brian
The sight of her was jarring.
She was dressed in a black skirt suit with sky-high black heels. Her hair was pulled back severely, showing off a pair of large pearl earrings.
The woman in front of me barely resembled the Jess I’d been spending time with over the past couple of weeks.
She was pale and nervous instead of sunny and confident. Dampened and dull when she was typically vibrant.
“I’ve never seen you in black.” I rested a hand on her lower back and directed her through the door.
She shrugged stiffly. “Kenneth always insisted I dress like this. It was easier just to appease him. Today will go more smoothly if he has one less thing to criticize me about. He despised when I wore color. Especially pink.”
“I like your pink.” I frowned. “You don’t look like yourself.”
“I’m not myself. When I have to interact with him, I can’t be. It took me years to find my way back, and now, this is an uncomfortable costume I wear for a few hours to keep the peace.”
I gritted my teeth, keeping the rest of my thoughts to myself.
How dare this fucker make her feel anything less than incredible?
Normally I went into these kinds of meetings cool and collected, but my fingers were already itching, and the need to punch something was already welling up.
I rubbed my bruised knuckles and focused on remaining calm as we rode the elevator up to the office.
Our New York office was state-of-the-art.
We could be considered fancy, but it had nothing on Kenneth’s lawyers.
Though being fancy didn’t mean a lawyer was good at their job.
It had more to do with how much they charged and what types of cases they took on.
Usually those involving corporate bullshit rather than helping actual people.
This place was famous for doing private equity transactions, so it made little sense for Kenneth to hire them to help him with his divorce. Yet here we were.
His attorney, a woman in her forties with a severe gray bob, did her best to maintain a calm, confident facade as we ran through the custody status, but I saw through the bullshit. She was completely out of her element, seemingly unable to even recognize the New Jersey statutes.
Good. I’d take every advantage I could get.
I crossed my arms and stared down Jess’s ex.
Gray hair, perma-tan, the unlined forehead of a man who took his Botox regimen seriously. Then there was the “I don’t give a fuck” attitude. Even though the mother of his children was sitting across from him.
He was even more repulsive than I’d anticipated after I’d read the case files and done my own research online.
“There is no need for your client to oppose our motion to relocate,” I said to the attorney, though I didn’t look away from the asshat across from me.
He didn’t react in the slightest.
“We will oppose,” the attorney said crisply. “He is the children’s father.”
“Kenneth,” Jess said, her voice strained. “We’ve talked about this. The girls would be so much happier in Vermont. I did what you asked. I didn’t force visitation, and I’ve been flexible. I would never keep them from you.”
The impassive expression he continued to wear made me want to choke him with his thousand-dollar Hermes tie.
“Okay, then.” I shuffled my files and got to work, laying out exactly what would happen, when he would be expected to appear in court, and how we’d use his opposition to this request to reopen the child support calculation.
His eyes widened when I dropped that truth bomb.
“And given that you exercise no visitation rights and have moved out of state yourself, I can’t imagine a judge being sympathetic.”
“We’ll see,” he said.
“It won’t be a Manhattan courtroom,” I replied. “It’s Jersey, and if I know one thing about the Jersey legal system, it’s that they really hate deadbeat dads.”
His face paled, even as he kept his expression flat.
As his lawyer took her turn, asking me questions about basic procedure she should already understand, tension radiated off Jess, making the air thicker.
If the woman across the table worked for me, I’d have fired her. Lo would wipe the floor with this woman in court, and she hadn’t even sat for the bar.
“They’d love to see you,” Jess said to her ex, somehow maintaining a kind tone.
Her ability to treat this fucker with any respect whatsoever only proved she was a much better person than I was.
“Kit is playing at the Brooklyn Academy of Music next Friday. She’s the youngest musician invited to showcase.” Her lips tipped up in a barely there smile. “She’s been working so hard on this very difficult Bach piece.”
My chest squeezed. I had no idea Kit was so talented.
Kenneth’s face softened for an instant, though the look was quickly replaced with a scowl. “I can’t. I’ll be at the Miller Foundation gala. I bought a table.”
Jess stiffened, the smallest sound of defeat escaping her.
This motherfucker. Poor Kit. She deserved support at such a significant event. If I thought it would do any good, I’d grab him by the hair plugs and drag him there myself.
I slid my phone out of my pocket and quickly typed out a text.
Like I hoped, I received a response immediately.
“You’re not, actually,” I said, placing the phone on the table.
He puffed up, his eyes narrowing. “Excuse me?”
“You’re not attending.” This time, I plastered on a smile.
“Evelyn Miller is a friend. I’ve attended every year for the last decade.”
“Sorry.” I rubbed a hand over my bearded jaw. “You’ve been disinvited.”
As if on cue, his phone buzzed on top of the walnut conference table.
He picked up the device and unlocked it. When his pompous expression morphed into a furious scowl, satisfaction washed over me.
“Who the hell do you think you are?” He slammed the phone onto the table. “Jess, what kind of two-bit con man of a lawyer did you get?”
I stood, sweeping up my files and offering Jess a hand. “Great news. Turns out you’re free the night of Kit’s event after all. Now there’s no reason you can’t show up for your child. You need a ride? I can pick you up.”
His face turned red, and I swore steam billowed from his ears.
I wanted to shake Jess and ask her what she’d ever seen in this guy, but my anger was replaced with heartache when I remembered that, when we entered this room, she physically shrank. Fuck. She was afraid of him.
There was certainly no love there.
I’d been doing this long enough to know when the hurt a person wore was really a mask for all the love they’d shared.
Jess’s pain? It was caused by fear and resignation.
She was resigning herself to the knowledge that he would once again get his way.
But now more than ever, I was determined to fuck with this guy. And I would relish it.
As we stepped out into the sunshine, I grasped her hand and gave it a quick squeeze. It was cool and soft and so much smaller than mine. And the contact felt incredible.
When that thought registered, I released her. Fuck. I was her lawyer. She was my client. “Sorry.”
She looked up at me, her eyes shining in the sunlight.
“This may be a weird request from a client, but can I have a hug?”
When we’d stepped into the shade of one of the many skyscrapers of lower Manhattan, I turned to face her.
She immediately looked at her feet, avoiding my gaze. “I shouldn’t have asked.”
I set my briefcase on the sidewalk, then cupped her chin, tipping it up toward me.
“At Murphy and Machon, we provide full service for our clients,” I said in a serious voice. “That includes hugs.”
Without hesitation, I pulled her to my chest. Like it was second nature, she wove her arms around my waist and hugged me tight.
She fit perfectly against me. In her sky-high heels, she was just the right height to tuck her head under my chin.
Eyes closed, I relished this moment. The joy that overwhelmed me was more potent than I’d felt after any courtroom victory.
Now more than ever, I wanted to help her. To ensure she felt safe and protected. To give her and her kids anything they wanted.
“Thank you for getting him uninvited from the gala,” she said into my chest. “That’s going to bruise his ego so much.”
A rumble of a laugh worked its way out of me. “It was my absolute pleasure.”
She stepped away, eyes shining. “How did you do it so quickly?”
“My sister,” I said.
“Dylan?” She broke into a smile, the fear that had consumed her finally abating. “I remember her.”
“Yeah. She’s a Miller.” I smirked. “Her husband, Cortney, is the son of Craig and Evelyn Miller. The retired baseball player. There is nothing Dylan hates more than a bully, so I shot her a quick text. And now Kenneth is officially blacklisted from all Miller Foundation events.”
Jess’s jaw dropped. “That is diabolical, Brian Machon. But I appreciate it.”
“And now he can go to the concert.”
She shook her head. “He still won’t go.”
“For Kit’s sake, I hope he does.” I picked up my briefcase. “And if he doesn’t, it will only strengthen our case. So either way, it’s a win.”
“I don’t remember you having such a vindictive streak,” she said as I led her into the parking garage.
I didn’t. At least until recently. I’d always prided myself on being a cool, calm, strategic professional. I didn’t take things personally or get caught up in petty bullshit.
But apparently, that wasn’t the case when it came to her. For her, with her, I would burn shit down and enjoy every second of it.
I hummed, wishing I could hold her hand again. “Only once in a while, when it really counts.” As we turned down the aisle where I’d parked, another thought came to me, and a plan formed in my mind. “I overheard him talking to his lawyer about the Metros.”
“Yes.” She nodded once. “He has season tickets, a luxury box. He’s obsessed.”
A wicked excitement coursed through me. “Oh, really?”
“Yes. Greta is a huge fan and has begged him to take her to a game, but he won’t. His excuse is that it’s only for ‘business.’” She used air quotes on the last word.
Ooh, this would be fun. “Here, hold this.” I handed her my briefcase and pulled my phone out of my pocket.
She sucked in a breath. “What are you doing now?”
“Do you have any idea how long the wait list is for Metros season tickets?” I asked as I pulled up the contact I needed.
“I’ve heard it takes years.”
“Yup. And today is someone’s lucky day, because Kenneth Mosely is no longer a season-ticket holder.”
I typed furiously, wishing I could see her ex’s face when he found out.
Her responding laugh lit up my nerve endings. Damn. I would burn the world down just to hear that sound. “How is this possible? Do you have superpowers?”
“The Phillips family,” I explained. “I’ve worked for them for more than fifteen years.
They are the best kind of people. There are hundreds of people who would take that luxury box in a heartbeat, and I’m just gonna let Cliff Phillips know that he should give it to more, ahem, deserving fans.
And if Greta is a fan,” I continued, scratching at my beard, “I’d be happy to take her, and you.
Let me know which games. I have an open invitation to the owner’s box. ”
The way she beamed up at me, like I was her hero, made my heart stutter in my chest.
I averted my attention, taking my briefcase from her, and headed for the car. I could feel my stomach rumbling. A protein shake was definitely not going to cut it today.
“C’mon.” I strode quickly, hoping the speed would help me avoid the complicated feelings brewing inside me. “Do you like ramen?”
“Yes,” she said, her tone unaffected. “Everyone likes ramen.”
I clawed at my tie, tugging a little too violently to loosen it. “Great. Then let’s go. Fucking with ex-husbands makes me hungry.”